“How far are we from the coast?” he said at last.
“Perhaps five miles, perhaps three, sir!” quietly replied the man.
“And we have a long run to make before we get sea-room,” said the captain.
“We shall all be in eternity before morning,” answered the man, solemnly.
The captain paused a moment, when he replied,
“Our only hope is in the topsail-clews—if they give way, we are indeed lost—God help us!”
“Amen!” I answered, involuntarily.
Silence now ensued, though none of us changed our positions. For myself, I was occupied with thinking of the female passengers, soon, perhaps, to be the prey of the wild waters. Every moment it seemed as if the topsails would give way, she strained so frightfully. It was impossible to stand up if exposed to the full force of the gale. So we sheltered ourselves in the waist as we best could. The wind as well as spray, however, reached us even here, though in diminished violence, the latter stinging the face like shot thrown against it. It seemed to me, each minute, as if we made more lee-way. At last, after half an hour’s suspense, I heard the surf breaking, with a noise like thunder, on the iron-bound coast to the eastward. Again and again I listened, and each time the awful sound became more distinct.
I did not mention my fears, however, for I still thought I might be mistaken. Suddenly the captain looked up.
“Hark!” he said.